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“So this is it.”
A pair of hollow blue eyes stared into nothing. Or maybe into everything. Not even the owner of those eyes knew for sure.
This tree had grown so high - he remembered, with the smallest part of him that bothered to remember anymore, how excited he’d been to perfect his first glyph. How the tiny, pinkish leaves had folded outwards. How his brother had been so impressed and so jealous, and even though he tried to hide it, he was smiling fondly and rotting away on the inside.
How this tree was grown from his first spell, and now it was one of the tallest in this forest, marking the place where a grave had been dug for a lost brother but never filled.
Mundane. It was the word that felt right to describe everything now.
“I suppose you’re expecting me to start apologizing again,” he said, almost conversationally. His voice cracked, however, and he took a moment to steady himself. Control was difficult, and growing in difficulty these days. After he regained his composure, he continued.
“After all, that’s all I’ve done in the past.” If there were anyone around to see, the edges of his mouth curved upwards to a minuscule degree. It was a sad smile, masking over regret and pain the same way a true mask hides all emotion.
He sighed, almost wishing things could return to the way they once had been. Philip Wittebane had always been a sentimental man. It was hard not to lapse into his old habits.
“Never mind, I have no more apologies to make. I’ve said sorry enough times to fill three lifetimes.” The driest and most humorless of laughs escaped his throat. His eyes did not laugh with him. “I’m here for a favor. You are dead either way, so I suppose you won’t care. But you did tell me you’d owe me one after the dragon attack.”
The dragon attack from three hundred years ago, something whispered.
The headstone and the empty grave remained silent. Not that he was expecting anything else.
“My coven is uncovering the collapsed vein,” he continued. “Where William Wittebane died more than three hundred years ago, and perhaps where his brother died, too.” He put his mask back on his face. “I may have lied about having no more apologies to make. It will simply be one of many lies I’ve stacked upon themselves all these years.”
Turning to leave, Emperor Belos shot one last glance at his brother’s grave. “I am sorry.”
With those words, the forest returned to silence.